


Dessert

by anonymous_sibyl



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-02
Updated: 2007-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_sibyl/pseuds/anonymous_sibyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What other services does the Colonial Fleet provide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dessert

**Author's Note:**

> This work is licensed under a [Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/). None of the media or characters written about in my fanfiction belong to me and I make no profit from these works.

She let him sit next to her. She let him buy her a drink. She even, just now, let him hold her hand, small fingers curling around his and tickling his palm. "But you won't tell me your name."

She laughed and took his other hand in hers. "Well, you haven't really told me your name, now have you, _Husker_?"

"It's my call-sign," he explained. "It's who I am."

"Boys and their toys," she said with a smile. "I should have known you were a pilot."

"And you?" he asked. "Who are you?"

"Someone who is hungry for dessert." She grinned at him as she pushed the menu across the table. "Something with fruit, I think. And ice cream."

"Cobbler." Apparently that was the right choice because it earned him a raised eyebrow and an appraising look from the lady.

"They have the most magnificent peach and blueberry cobbler here. The gods would eat this cobbler, Husker. They would eat it and die of pure pleasure."

"Then we have to have it." He signaled the waitress and nearly laughed aloud when his date tartly corrected her two forks assumption and demanded her own portion 'with extra ice cream'. "Not laughing," he said, holding up his hands in mock defense. "I hate sharing my dessert, too."

"Food of the gods," she repeated. "It would be disrespectful to not consume it all."

"And then die of pleasure?"

"There are deaths and then there are deaths," she said, and he wasn't sure if she winked at him while she was accepting her dessert from the waitress. "And some are well worth it."

"It's not the destination, it's the journey?"

"You are not at all what I expected from a pilot." She paused to savor her first bite of cobbler before continuing. "I suspect you might actually read."

"Books. Long ones, without pictures."

"Well aren't you just breaking the mold." She pressed her fork into her plate and picked up stray crumbs.

"And you?" he asked. "Is there some mold you're breaking? Are you acting out of the ordinary just being here with me?"

"Trap," she said, waving her fork at him. "If I say yes, you accuse me of slumming, but if I say no then you think I'm the sort of woman who accepts drinks from strangers all the time."

"I could just be wondering what your name is," he said. "And why you're so reluctant to give it to me."

"Give me a call-sign," she said. "And make it a good one. Nothing sexist, mind."

"Now that's a trap." He scraped up the last bits of ice cream and fruit from his plate and smiled as she did the same. "The only things I know about you are your preference in desserts and your hair color, and I don't think you're going to find Peaches to be your ideal call-sign."

"No, I really don't think I would."

"Laurie? Gods, Laurie Roslin, is that you?"

"The jig, as they say, is up." She rolled her eyes and casually waved to the woman at the bar. "Edie, how wonderful to see you."

She whispered across the table to him. "It isn't wonderful at all. She always was quite stupid."

He whispered back. "Now I know two things about you: your name is Laurie and you don't suffer fools."

"Laura." She dismissed Edie with another wave and turned back to him. "My name is Laura."

"She called you Laurie."

"She is, as I mentioned, quite stupid."

He pushed their plates aside and reached for her hands. "Now I know another thing. You don't like being called Laurie."

"Which, of course, means you'll never do it again."

"Never," he promised.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Husker."

He rose when she stood, rounded the table and pulled her chair the rest of the way out. "Ma'am."

"Quite the gentleman."

He gestured at his lapels. "Just another service provided by the Colonial Fleet."

"Does the Fleet provide escort service to young women in need of a safe way home?"

"Absolutely."

"Wonderful." She squeezed his fingers in hers. "Take me home, Husker."

He shivered ever so slightly at her lowered voice and let his hand linger in hers, before picking up her coat and holding it so she could slide her arms into the sleeves. "You won't make any judgments about me being the sort of man who takes home strange women, will you?"

"Absolutely not." She allowed him to help her with her scarf, tilting her head so he could twist it around her neck. "But Husker?"

"Yes?"

"I am going to judge you mightily if you don't get another piece of that cobbler to take home with us." She paused. "For breakfast."

"I'll get two."


End file.
